“All fun aside, we have a real situation brewing in Freeporte. Judge William Morningside is hearing a drug case, and last night, ’round about two a.m., the defendant’s posse stormed the county jail. Killed four guards in the process. Good family men. Our star dealer, Sanchez, and four of his playmates got away. Local authorities caught three. Sanchez, however, is still at large, spreading sunshine in the form of notes. When Judge Morningside arrived at his gym this morning, this was taped to his locker.” Franks passed copies of a crudely written note to all assembled. It read:
Drop all charges against Jose Luis Sanchez or
we drop your wife off Boseman’s Bridge.
“A few years back,” Adam said, “I bungeed off that bridge. You wouldn’t wanna go over without a rope. It spans a hellacious gorge.”
Charity fought a fresh wave of nausea just thinking about it. Maybe she’d skip the popcorn.
“Seriously, gang, this is the real deal. Caleb, you’re in charge. Have a team in place by eleven hundred hours. Questions?” When none were asked, he said, “Good. Let’s get busy.”
Once everyone, save for Charity, had filed out of Franks’s office, Adam asked the boss, “Sir, there any chance of Charity sticking back here? You know, finishing up paperwork and what-not till we get this creep behind bars?”
“Excuse me?” Charity said. “I happen to be standing right beside you. And, no, I don’t want to stay behind, stuck with paperwork, while you guys are off having all the fun.” Yes, she very much wanted to have a baby and at least scale down her workload until the kid was in school, but that didn’t mean she was ready to be put out to pasture.
Franks sighed. “No one could be happier about the two of you getting hitched than myself,” he said. “But, Logue, your wife-to-be is one of my best men—so to speak. If I have to hear this chauvinistic, overbearing, overprotective crap every time I assign you two to a mission, one of you is for sure staying home—and believe me, it won’t be your sharp-shooting soon-to-be-wife. Got it?”
“Yessir,” Adam said.
“Good. In the future, you’ll work different assignments, but at the moment, I don’t have the manpower for that luxury. Now, get out of here and assemble your gear. Oh—and send Caleb back in. I want to make it clear, Adam, he knows you’re to be on your best behavior.”
“But, sir—”
“Logue…” the boss warned.
“Yessir. I’ll send Caleb right in.”
“Can you believe that?” Adam asked in the hall, Franks’s office door closed behind him. “What a prick.”
“Yeah, you are,” Charity said. “I can’t believe you pulled that stunt. What were you thinking?”
“Is it wrong of me to want to keep you safe?”
“If it comes at the expense of a career I’ve worked hard at, and happen to also be damned good at, then, yes.”
He made a face. “Your job at the moment is planning our wedding. You’ll no doubt be distracted, worrying about frosting flavors and flowers and stuff. What if you’re trying to decide if you like…I don’t know, petunias or daisies better when someone pulls a gun? Your reaction time’ll be off and then whammo, blammo. My bride’s dead before I even slip my ring on her finger.”
“Because I love you,” Charity said, fury bubbling up her throat in the form of cheesy-egg bile. “I’m going to pretend you took a strong medication of some sort this morning that currently has you waaaay off-kilter.”
“Pretend all you want,” he said. “But I love you, too, and if something happened to you on my watch, I’d—”
“What? Never forgive yourself? Adam, I’ve been watching out for myself a whole thirty-five years without your help. I think I can manage a few more before retirement.”
“I know.” He pulled her into a fierce hug. “And I’m sorry for worrying, but from the second Franks told us about this Sanchez threatening not the judge, but his wife, I can only focus on my future wife.”
Grinning, standing on her tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose, Charity said, “Fortunately for you, your bride-to-be is quite adept at kicking ass. Now, let’s stock up on ammo and go grab ourselves a bad guy.”
Adam hated to admit it, but with Charity, Bear, Caleb and Sam watching the judge’s wife while he and Beau stuck close to the judge, he felt as if he was only doing half his job. He was so freaked over Charity possibly being in harm’s way, he couldn’t even think straight. Lord help him if he had to shoot straight.
What was wrong with him? Ever since proposing to Charity, then having her accept, he was happy—over the moon, thrilled—but he was also on edge. Once she became his—and yes, he knew it was chauvinistic to think of marriage in those terms, but he didn’t care—he’d take his vows seriously. Especially the protection part. Charity meant the world to him and if he had to move the world to keep her safe, that was what he’d damn well do.
“Ready to roll?” Beau asked in Adam’s earpiece from across the courtroom, eyeing Judge Morningside, who was getting ready to leave his bench.
Escorting the judge to his chambers was a brief trip. In under a minute the short, balding man was safely inside, munching on a pepperoni pizza his wife had had delivered.
“Any news from Caleb’s team?” Adam asked his brother.
“No,” Beau said with a big sigh. “And for the fifteenth time, she’s safe with Caleb. He’ll watch after Charity like he would either of us.”
“Yeah, well, I want him watching her better than that.”
“Give it a rest, would you?” Beau shook his head. “I thought once you two jumped each other’s bones you’d loosen up, but if anything, sleeping with Charity has only made you more of a pain in my ass.”
“Nice talk,” Adam said. “I appreciate all this brotherly love.”
“You’re welcome,” Beau said with the kind of glare he’d used back when Adam got a peanut butter and grape sandwich stuck in Beau’s bike chain. “Now get your head off of your fiancée and back on the judge.”
“Might not be so bad being a judge’s wife,” Charity mused as the team trailed her from a posh salon where she’d gotten her nails and hair done, to a posh boutique where she shopped for a cocktail dress to wear to Congresswoman Anderson’s electoral watch party. The two had been sorority sisters at Oregon State, and if Anderson won her reelection bid, Cookie, the nickname everyone called the judge’s wife, had been promised the job of decorating her friend’s Washington, D.C. office and apartment.
Charity had learned all of this while guarding Cookie’s dressing room.
“What do you think of this one?” Cookie asked, examining her backside in the three-way mirror at the far end of the sumptuous, cream-colored dressing area.
“Gorgeous,” Charity said. “The mossy-green looks amazing with your red hair.”
“Thanks. I’ve always wanted to wear brighter tones, but they never seem to work.”
“Seeing how pretty you look in what you have on,” Charity said, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You’re a doll.” The middle-aged woman stepped back into her cube. “You don’t really think I’m in danger, do you? I just assumed that boy’s note was trash talk.”
“Hard to say, ma’am.”
“Please,” she said, poking her head out the door. “Call me Cookie. Everyone does.”
“Thanks,” Charity said.
“So back on topic, deep down, do you honestly think this psycho is out to hurt either me or my husband?”
“I’d like to hope not,” Charity said. “But I’ve been a marshal for over a decade, and in that time have seen a lot of twisted things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to scare you or to imply your case is any more dangerous than others I’ve been assigned to. Just that it never hurts to be cautious.”
“Hmm…” Cookie eyed herself in the next dress—a slinky cranberry-colored number. “Speaking of caution, is this too racy for a woman my age?”
“You’re only as young as you feel is what I always say, and if you feel
half as great as you look, you just found a winner.”
Cookie laughed. “I like you,” she said. “We’re going to get along just fine.”
Her own smile fading, Charity said, “I only wish I’d had such an easy time wedding-dress shopping.”
“You’re getting married? When?”
“Christmas.”
“Fantastic,” Cookie said with genuine enthusiasm. “You’ll make a gorgeous holiday bride.”
If only Charity had as much confidence.
“How’d your day go?” Adam asked, back at the motel. Per Franks’s request, he was officially bunking with Beau, but he had taken the liberty of stopping by Charity’s for a visit.
“Nice,” she said, washing her face at the plain-Jane room’s counter sink. Whoever occupied the room next door had some obnoxious cops-and-robbers show on their TV. Between dorky, seventies-style chase music and gunshots, he had to reposition himself from the head of the bed to the foot just to hear her. “Cookie Morningside’s a doll. Hope she doesn’t get hurt.”
“She’s got a great security team.” Adam bunched a pillow under his head.
“Yeah, I know.” She winked.
“Sorry about this morning,” he said a few minutes later. “I was out of line.”
“True.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I know that, too.” While she grinned, he leaned forward to swat her behind. “Mmm…a spankin’. The perfect end to any working girl’s day.”
He scrambled to his feet, walked up behind her and slid his hands around her waist. “Do you wake each day planning ways to tick me off?”
“Pretty much.” She grinned at him in the mirror.
“All kidding aside,” he said, catching her stare. “I know I was a bad boy. Beau read me the riot act, and as a bonus prize, my dad even called, telling me not to ruin a good thing.”
“That good thing…” she teased. “Would that ‘good thing’ be me?”
“You know it.” He kissed her ear.
Giggling, she scrunched her neck. “Is it time for bed?”
“Sleepy?”
“Not particularly.”
He groaned before sweeping her into his arms. “How did you know those were exactly the words I was wanting to hear?”
“I can’t decide,” Cookie said the next morning. “Should I go wild and have the shoes and purse dyed to match the cranberry or just wear black?”
“If it were me,” Charity said, eyeing the beautiful silk-and-sequin dress Cookie had tried on the day before, “and money wasn’t an issue, I’d have them dyed.”
“Great, let’s do it.” She left the closet that was larger than Charity’s living room. “Oh, and I’ll have to ask William’s mother if I might borrow her diamond necklace and earring set. Oh, Charity, wait till you see them. They’re divine.” On her way to her dressing table, an elegant skirted affair larger than Charity’s kitchen table, she said, “Family rumor has it that they were given to Mother Morningside by a man other than Father Morningside. He used to get all bent out of shape when she wore them—mostly on special occasions, but sometimes just to one of our son’s football games. I swear she did it just to annoy her husband.”
Laughing, Charity said, “This is a woman I’d love to meet.”
“You’ll get a chance Saturday night—if you’re still here. Every Saturday night, we supper at the club. Even if you all have caught that dreadful Sanchez man by then, I want you and Adam to join us. William speaks very highly of your fiancé.” The previous afternoon, Cookie had pressed her for not just wedding, but groom details.
“It’s a date.” Charity squeezed the woman in a spontaneous hug. How they’d gotten so close in such a short time, Charity couldn’t figure. Maybe it was because Cookie had admitted to always having wanted a daughter, and she was already up to her neck in helping Gillian with her ever-growing wedding plans.
“All right then,” Cookie said with a bright smile. “Now that that’s settled, let’s hop in the car and get a fabric swatch over to—”
A crash was followed by breaking glass.
“Get down!” Charity hollered, throwing herself over Cookie, dragging her off of the cushioned bench and onto the carpeted floor. Into the microphone tucked up her sleeve, she said, “I need backup in the master suite. Possible intrusion attempt and—”
Before she’d even finished her request, Caleb was there, followed by Sam and Bear.
“Keep her down,” Caleb directed.
Cookie was crying, and though Charity’s heart went out to her, she did as she was told and kept her in what had to be an uncomfortable position.
Bear knelt to pick up a rock. A red rubber band held what appeared to be a note.
“Got gloves?” Caleb asked.
“Yeah,” Bear said.
“Use ’em. I want this done by the book. Sam, everything all-clear out the window?”
“Affirmative,” he said while a vehicle could be heard screeching down the normally quiet lane. Caleb sent another two agents after the escaping suspect.
“Charity—get Mrs. Morningside out of here and into an interior room. Bear, soon as you get those gloves on, get me a read on that note.”
Charity rose, giving Cookie the freedom to get to her feet, but still covering her back.
Bear read, “‘Drop all charges or Cookie crumbles.’”
The judge’s wife shrieked. “Oh, my God. This isn’t happening. Please tell me this isn’t—”
“Charity,” Caleb barked. “Get her out of here—now.”
“Come on,” Charity urged Cookie along. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“But my husband. Where’s William?”
Caleb said, “He’s safe and sound at the courthouse, ma’am. Don’t you worry about a thing. He’s in good hands.”
In a media room, Charity got Cookie settled into a comfy burgundy lounge chair. “How about watching a movie?” she asked.
“Oh, dear, no. I couldn’t possibly. Not with all this intrigue hanging over my head.”
“I know this has got to be frightening for you,” Charity said, clutching the older woman’s hand. “But I don’t know any better medicine than a nice, romantic comedy.”
“Well…I do like Pretty Woman an awful lot. Think you could put that on?”
“Sure. Richard Gere is highly medicinal.”
“Oh, dear…”
“What’s wrong?” Charity asked, forehead furrowed with concern.
“My shoes. If we don’t get them today, how will they ever be dyed in time?”
“That is a problem,” Charity said. “How about if I make a few calls and see if the shoe store might be willing to come to us?”
“You’re such a dear,” Cookie said. “How will I ever thank you?”
“Just have a super time at your friend’s party.”
After ensuring her charge was engrossed in the movie, Charity slipped out into the hall and closed the door. She found Bear in the bedroom, while the rest of the team were at their security posts.
“Any new developments?” she asked.
“Not a thing,” Bear said. “This guy’s a ghost. We’re still not sure how his friends made it past the front gates of the development. Looks like they found an old power company maintenance road.” He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “Cookie all right?”
“She will be as long as I get in touch with her favorite shoe salesman.”
“Huh?”
“Long story,” Charity said. “It’s a chick thing. I’ve gotta make a quick call, then will be posted outside the media room.”
With the increased threat on Cookie came increased protection, meaning none of the double shifts that typically came along with small-scale jobs. As a result, Charity was back at the motel by six.
She entered her room to find the TV blaring and three sacks of wonderful-smelling barbecue takeout scattered across the table in front of the beige room’s only window.
Adam, in all his male glory,
sauntered out of the bathroom wearing unbuttoned jeans and a smile. His chest hair and the rummaged-through mess on his head were damp. “’Bout time you got home.”
“Mmm…” She closed the door on her hectic day and stepped into the outstretched arms of the man who would hopefully give her an idyllic night. “Are you ever a sight for sore eyes.”
“Rough day?” he asked.
“Nah.” She stepped back and around him, reaching into the overnight case she’d stashed on top of the dresser and had yet to unpack. “Just long—and boring. Really, really boring.”
Grabbing black cropped sweatpants and one of the new T-shirts her sister had made her buy two sizes smaller than Charity normally wore, she said, “S’cuze me. I need a quick shower.”
“Want me to join you?”
More than anything Charity wanted to say yes, but she was still shaken about Cookie’s close call. She hardly knew the woman, yet felt strangely connected to her. In an hour or two, she’d be decompressed, but at this moment, in an intimate setting like the shower, one kiss and hug, and she’d break. Better for Adam’s overactive imagination that he assumed all was still calm.
“Well?” he asked, strumming his fingers down her cheek. “Is that a yes or no?”
“Ordinarily, you know I’d love it, but…”
“Jeez Louise,” he said with a smile to match his teasing tone. “We’re not even married yet and already you’re putting the kibosh on my fun.”
“Adam, I—”
“Shh.” He planted a kiss to her forehead. “I know. I’m a hot water hog, and for once, you’re wanting it all to yourself. Go on. I’ll get dinner set up.”
“Thanks for the meal,” she said on her way into the still-steamy bathroom. “And for understanding.”
“That’s me. Mr. Understanding.”
After she shut the door, a muscle started popping on Adam’s tightly clenched jaw.
What was she trying to pull, hiding the afternoon’s events? Did she think he was dumb and wouldn’t find out?
U.S. Marshals: Prey (U.S. Marshals Book 3) Page 14